


Sweet Victory

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never asked for any of this." Dany's life if the Targaryens had won the rebellion (AU).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Victory

Occasionally, Dany would wonder if all noblewomen had the same response to their marriages as she did. It wasn’t something she planned, or ever wanted, but it was something that she always knew was going to happen, something she had been prepared for her entire life.

At her birth there had been some exasperation that she had not been born before, to save the heir from marrying outside the line. But Rhaegar had his heirs, so there was really no need to for there to be a second marriage. The Martells wouldn’t hear of it, especially after what had happened in the war, and there was a second son. The line could still be kept pure.

And so she found herself, at 16, standing in the Great Sept and reciting her vows. It was a scene that had played through her mind a million times and it was odd to have it become reality. Everything was so like the visions of her childhood that going through the motions almost felt unnecessary.

She glanced at Viserys occasionally throughout, and wondered when she stopped thinking of him as a brother.

****

The Princess Elia’s health was frail and always had been. Childbirth had not helped, Dany was told, but she did not think the woman had ever been robust.

But when she was with her children, doing needlework with her daughter or offering guidance her son, there was a light in her eyes and a sense of vigor in her limbs that was missing at all other times. Even when she was exasperated and scolding them, she seemed more animated and content than she was just moments before.

She never spoke of it with Elia, as close as they were, but Dany knew the reason: her children were the only things here that were a part of her. _All these years and she still feels like an outsider._ They would be gone soon, married with families of their own. Sometimes, when they were sitting together in the gardens, Dany would wonder what Elia would do when they left her entirely alone.

Dany found something comforting in the other woman’s presence, and she could tell Elia liked having someone to talk to who would listen as well. The rebellion had been crushed years ago, but even with the passage of time she knew Elia had never had the courage to ask her husband what had happened with the Northern girl. She bottled it up inside and cut herself off, off from everyone expect Dany and her children.

 _Perhaps she finds some kindred spirit in me,_ Dany thought, watching the other woman smile over her needlework. _I never asked for any of this either_.

****

It took Dany two years to conceive. When she finally did, she miscarried twice in one year.

It wasn’t anything that was spoken of, once the stained sheets were cleaned. Her failure to do the one thing that was required of her, to carry on the line, hung over everything but it was too shameful of a subject to be broached. By everyone expect Viserys, of course, who comforted her at the time but always threw it back in her face whenever he was in one of his dark moods.

After the second one, the maesters instructed her to seek the sun and warmth. There was some talk of going to Dorne, and Elia excitedly offered herself as a traveling companion. She would talk for hours, it seemed, about how restorative the Water Gardens were and how the food could settle any nerves. But in the end, it was decided Dany’s health was too frail to make the journey south, and that the gardens at King’s Landing would serve just fine. She could see that Elia hid her disappointment as well as she could, though she still did everything to make herself a good companion.

They would sit in the garden, as they often did, and Elia would talk of her own miscarriages and how strong Dany was, how she was sure to have a living child soon. And Dany would look at this frail, sickly woman who had two healthy children and try to resist the compulsion to rake her nails across her friend’s face.

****

The maesters had gently broached the idea to her that, perhaps, it would not be advisable for her to have children. They could brew the moon tea in such a way that Viserys need never know.

Their belief that this was something she could not do only made Dany more determined to succeed. _Even if it kills me._

It almost did. With the third one, she found herself muttering silent words of support to the child growing inside her. _You’re the blood of the dragon. The blood of conquerors. You must be strong. You must._ And with each passing day, she held her breath waiting for the blood to rush out of her as it did twice before.

It didn’t, but the birth started far too early. She was sitting alone in the gardens when it came to her in a rush, and she screamed more in denial than in pain. Not yet, not now.

They didn’t listen to her and she found herself being pulled into bed and, despite all her protests, drugged into a dreamless sleep. For the pain, they said, but somehow it was more painful to know she would not be present. She wasn’t sure that she would come back from the sleep as they placed the Milk of the Poppy at her lips; the pain was ripping her body apart, there was so much blood, it would be a blessing to slip away.

She never heard her son cry, but somehow he breathed. They placed him in her arms when she was still half-dead, and she wondered how this tiny thing could bring with him so much blood and pain.

****

Viserys was oddly tender when he visited her this time, kissing her sweetly and declaring his son the reincarnation of Aegon the Conqueror. He then went into another bitter rant that the name had already been taken by one of their brother’s half-bred children, as he referred to them whenever they were alone, and which Dany was well-practiced in drowning out. She was weary and alarmingly cold, the fever not having left her body just yet. She couldn’t even feel a sense of triumph or victory at finally succeeding, and had no interest in her husband’s ranting.

She had decided not to name him yet, at least in her own thoughts. She told herself it would be easier this way, no matter what happened.

Elia came to visit her the next day, her smile warming the room and somehow taking some of the chill off of Dany’s bones. She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hand, leaning in to give her forehead a kiss. She smelled of the spicy perfume she always wore, a welcome reprise from the sickeningly sweet smell of the bed chamber.

“You did well, sister,” she told her, her voice light and caring. “Soon, you’ll be up and about.”

Dany nodded, not really hearing. “And my son?”

Elia’s smile faltered, but only a bit. “He’s a true Targaryen. He’s a fighter.”

Dany cast her eyes on the cradle in the room, as if she were just seeing it for the first time. She was filled with a sudden desire to leave the bed, her legs burning from lying for so long. Pushing herself upright, she gathered a blanket about her shoulders and, with Elia’s help, walked the short distance to the cradle—an ornate, gilded thing that had held generations of her line.

She started down at her tiny son, at this boy who lived and breathed but hardly made a sound. _He won’t live,_ she thought, the idea as clear as it was painful. _And everyone knows, they’re just pretending._ His coloring was that of old Valyria, as was the too-thin blood that ran through the veins so close to the delicate skin. She thought of beautiful, dark-haired Rhaenys and Aegon, who had her son’s coloring but had always been strong, and anger welled in her. _It’s not fair. None of my children will live._

She had to grip the side of the cradle to stay upright, but she retained her composure. And when Elia squeezed her shoulder in silent support, she almost wept with embarrassment.

****

She slept with the boy in her bed that night, one hand lying lightly on his chest, waiting for it to stop that rhythmic rise and fall. Silently willing him the strength to live on, just as she had willed him to grow while he was in her womb. _You are the blood of the dragon,_ she kept repeating to herself, but each time the phrase seemed more meaningless. _I said that to the other two as well, and it couldn’t stop the blood._

Despite her exhaustion she found she could not get more than a few brief moments of sleep here and there that night—the child would move under her hand and she would bolt awake, every nerve in her body on edge. She was able to watch the dawn creep over the horizon, the red and pink growing like flames until they settled into a calming blue. And the child still lived. He made it through the night and he still breathed. That should have been enough to settle her a bit, but she found herself more anxious than ever. _Soon. And I won’t be prepared._

She watched the light creep up the bed, and found herself wondering how many more times she would be in this bed, in this state, and how often she would come out the other side.

Every muscle in her body was screaming, her head was throbbing, and she couldn’t say how long she had lain in this room. But still, she has made it. Despite what the maesters had said, despite what the future would hold for her son, she had accomplished this feat.

 _I’m the true Targaryen. I’m the fighter,_ she thought, and for the first time in what seemed like forever she allowed herself a smile, as she fell into an exhaustive, deep sleep.


End file.
